Bloodlines

39

W HEN WE LEFT THE DUCANE HOUSE, O’CONNOR FOLLOWED ME HOME again. It wasn’t that late, about nine o’clock. The lights were on, so I figured Mary and my dad were still up. I invited O’Connor in. He declined. I felt noble for offering.

Once inside, though, I was glad he had declined, not because my dad was in bad shape, but because he and Mary were laughing. Recently, Dad hadn’t laughed all that often.

“Glad to see you’re having a good time here,” I said.

“I was remembering the camping trip.”

We had gone camping together a lot, but “the camping trip” always referred to one adventure in Joshua Tree National Park. On that trip, I was about ten, Barbara fourteen. Barbara and I had caught a bad case of contagious giggles, and infected my parents with them. After three warnings from the ranger, the whole family got kicked out of the campground for laughing too loudly after curfew. Just as we were getting in the car, the ranger asked in a pleading voice, “What was so darn funny?”

It broke us up again. In fact, for some time after that, all you had to do was say “Joshua Tree,” and we’d lose it.

The truth is, I don’t have the slightest idea what the original joke was, or even if there was one. If there was and I heard it again, I suspect I wouldn’t be more than mildly amused. The laughter itself wasn’t really what mattered. What mattered was that all our lives, from that moment on, there was that time in our memories of our family so closely drawn together, a one-of-a-kind something that happened over nothing.

My father looked at me now and took my hand. “Call Barbara,” he said.

“Now?”

“No, tomorrow. Arrange to have lunch with her. Something. Just the two of you. Don’t mention me. Don’t ask her to come here.”

If he hadn’t mentioned Joshua Tree just before he asked, I probably would have made excuses. But I knew what he was remembering, what he wanted of me, and so I agreed that I would.

So I left a message for Barbara. I specified that I wouldn’t be asking her to talk about or take care of Dad. Sister time.

I walked Mary out to her car and thanked her again. After she left, I had an odd sensation of being watched. I looked around, but couldn’t see anyone.

I went back inside and called Barbara again.

I didn’t hear from her.

It didn’t bother me much, because the next few days were wild ones.